Karl pulled himself up to a sitting position against the headboard of the bed, pulled the used condom off his cock, tossed it in the vicinity of the wastebasket, and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. Lighting up and blowing smoke at the ceiling, he watched as the rent boy came out of the bathroom and padded, unselfconsciously around the sparsely furnished room of the Axelhaus fleabag on Lietzenburger Strasse in the center of Berlin's Schöneberg gay district.
Dirk's body was slight, thin, but not emaciated, more lithe, Karl guessed, and short. More boyish than masculine. The balls were tight to his body, round, distinct, and the cock was small, what some would call pert. He was a platinum blond, which probably came from a bottle, but he had done the pubes as well, which were trimmed to a close-cropped V. He had piercings-a ball in his tongue and small rings, one in his left nipple, one in his navel, and one Karl had found under Dirk's balls that had elicited a very interesting Energizer Bunny effect in Dirk when Karl had gently pulled it with his teeth. There was, as far as Karl had determined, only the one tattoo, on the young man's lower right belly: the word, "baby," which, when he'd asked, Dirk had said, "As in your."
And that was pretty much what Karl saw in Dirk that would turn a lot of men on. Someone willing to be their baby. Boyish, without being underage, compliant, experienced, and with a hole you could drive a truck into. He'd be quite an asset if he could be trained.
Karl sat and puffed as he watched Dirk dress, standing near the bed, not the least bit shy. He was dressing in leathers, as Karl had requested, in consideration for the operation at hand. And he had managed a sexy and vulnerable look with it. Black leather, form-fitting pants, with zipper down the butt crack as well as in front and also down the calves, and a half-length black leather vest that was held together, not fully covering his chest, though, with black lacings. The vest exposed his navel and that "baby" tattoo. Cute little black boots.
As Dirk was zipping up in all directions, Karl repeated the directions for the third time. "You remember where to pick it up-the Hengst Club on Kleistrasse in forty-five minutes. He'll proposition you and give you an envelope, and then you'll deliver it to the man stopping at the park bench in Volkspark and propositioning you. Then you're to be back here at 5:00 p.m. to report to me. Are you sure you have that?"
Karl reached for his wallet on the nightstand and took out a wad of Euros. "This should cover it all. Don't ask either of the men for money. Do the switch and move on afterward. Got that?"
"Yes," Dirk said. He hesitated, not knowing if the man would want a kiss or a compliment on his prowess before he left. This wasn't a usual trick. He hadn't even been told Karl would fuck him. He thought he'd just be getting the instructions. No matter, though. He decided a kiss wasn't needed and turned and left the room. Karl didn't call after him. He was busy looking for his cell phone.
"Lars," he said into the phone after he'd punched the numbers, "OK, it's all set up."
"I still just don't know," the man at the other end of the line said. "I'm still not sure of this. The trouble with this young man of yours-"
"It will work fine, Lars."
"You remembered to tell him the man passing on the envelope would be Middle Eastern, didn't you?-but not specifically Iranian."
"Yes, of course," Karl answered. But he'd given a quick assurance on that that he wasn't sure about. Had he actually told Dirk that? He couldn't remember.
"And there's something off with your whole scenario. A rent boy and the gay district."
"We discussed this. It's the perfect cover."
"But you didn't tell him to actually have sex with his contacts, did you?"
"No, of course not." And this Karl was certain of. He hadn't said anything at all to Dirk about having sex with either the pick up or the drop off. He'd just said the men would proposition him, not actually demand to carry through with the sex. It was just so they'd fit in with the surroundings.
He had a little twinge about that, though. He'd been told to give Dirk instructions; he hadn't been told to fuck him. But Dirk was such a sweet little piece. Karl hadn't been able to resist. The young man had been so eager to please. And he had pleased Karl. Such a soft mouth.
Down at the entrance to the hotel, a beefy hand reached out and roughly pulled Dirk into the manager's office. The heavy-set man gathered Dirk in close to his body and glared down into the young man's face.
"You can't just do tricks here and not give me a cut," he said. "What kind of a hotel do you think this is?"
Both of them knew what kind of hotel this was. "It wasn't really a trick-well, not completely a trick. The man upstairs should have taken care of you."
"I don't work with 'the men upstairs,'" the man growled. Dirk turned his head away from the assault of the beer breath. "I work with the rent boys. So, are you going to work with me?"
Dirk didn't have time to haggle and he was a bit upset that he'd said that it hadn't been the usual trick upstairs. He'd been told in no uncertain terms that this all was hush hush and in service to the country. He docilely let the man bend him over the desk, chuckle at finding there was a convenient zipper down his butt crack, and take his cut out in a quick butt fuck.
* * * *
The club named Hengst, German for "Stallion," on Kleistrasse, was just about as raunchy, all-out-there gay leather as you could find in Berlin. No doubt Karl chose it with the idea that the thoughts and attention of any men there would be as far away from espionage as one could possibly get. To Dirk, though, it was eye-popping opportunity.
Dirk felt suddenly sexy and as if he'd fallen into a candy store as soon as he had entered Hengst. He'd never been here before. He'd never realized that the gay scene could be so open and hedonist even in Berlin. The place was dimly lit and smoke-filled. It wasn't crowded, but those who were here were really into the atmosphere-and into what was happening on the small stage at the other end of the room from the bar and down the shallow-stepped tiers.
Dirk backed up to the bar as he looked out over the crowd for his possible connection and was getting an overhead view of the stage action. And what was happening there was riveting. A young man, pretty much of the same type as Dirk himself, was playing a pole, Roman motif. He was wearing a short skirt and laced up gold sandals and had gold bands around his biceps and his forehead. Standing on either side of him as he worked on the pole were two bulky gladiators. In short order, as Dirk's time at the bar spun out, the three men were on a couch down there, with the pole dancer in the middle taking the cocks of the two gladiators in a shared hole.
The clientele was already pretty much ahead of the entertainment when Dirk arrived. Most of the tables on the tiers banking down to the stage were occupied by shadowy figures in various stages of copulation. The only table with only a single occupant was taken by a swarthy-looking, thin man, whose eyes lighted on Dirk as soon as the young man entered the room.
The swarthy stranger was half rising and beckoning to Dirk, but Dirk had backed into two strong arms at the bar, which gathered his small body into the barstool, where a massive leatherman was perched. He was a muscle-bound biker type, wearing a black leather vest over a hairy barrel chest; leather pants open at the crotch, with his privates covered by a leather codpiece. His costume was completed by black leather boots and a black leather beret-type hat.
The bruiser had taken possession of Dirk straightaway with no preliminaries. Dirk whispered, "Are you the man?"
"I'm the man for you, sweet cheeks," the hulk growled. Even while he answered he was unzipping Dirk's butt crack. It didn't take him long to release the pouch holding in his cock and balls, either, or to go to town by putting Dirk on the cock.
Must be my contact, Dirk, thought. He'll slip me the envelope while everyone thinks we're hot and heavy doing something else.
What the leatherman was slipping Dirk, though, was a massive cock. Remaining perched on the bar stool, he held the much smaller rent boy in front of him, encasing him in beefy, tattooed arms, a hand cupping Dirk's chin. Dirk moved his legs back on either side of the stool and leveraged off the front panel of the bar with his feet, fucking himself on the cock, at first waiting for the exchange to happen, but quite soon concentrating on the rough fuck and on the DP performance down on the stage.
This spying thing could be a lot of fun, he thought.
Another biker type cozied up to the bar next to the fucking pair in mid fuck and started participating to the extent the first big bruiser would let him. Stroking Dirk's body, kissing Dirk. Even kissing the other biker.
When the first biker had fired off, he released Dirk, who immediately found himself in the embrace of the second biker. The first one snapped up his crotch pouch and started to move off.
"Hey," Dirk called after him, "Don't you have something to-?"
"If you wanted to be paid, blondie, you should have said something off the top," the leatherman said, as he turned and kept on walking.
"Not money. Don't you have-?"
"I've got what you want, sweetie," The second biker said, holding Dirk tight to him and using his other hand to explore.
"Oh, good," Dirk said.
The biker threw Dirk over his shoulder and moved across the bar front to a doorway covered with a beaded curtain. He fucked Dirk against the wall in the dark hallway beyond, with Dirk's legs hooked on his hips and Dirk's arms around his neck.
He too, though, just zipped up and disappeared back through the beaded curtain after he was finished.
Dirk stumbled out into the main room, only then seeing the swarthy-looking man at a table a couple of tiers down toward the stage waving frantically at him.
As Karl had told Dirk the exchange would happen, the man unzipped Dirk's leather pants at the slit in the calf of the right leg, inserted an envelope, and then zipped the leg back up. The man had seemed a little nonplused when Dirk sat in his lap, facing him, and on his cock as he was making the exchange-but he didn't complain about the unexpected attention.
* * * *
The man was already sitting on the designated bench in the Volkspark when Dirk sashayed up to him. Dirk smiled at the man, who gave a big smile back.
What a sweet little piece, the man thought. Just what he'd come into the park to pick up.
"You want me to give it to you here or over in those bushes there, where it will be more private."
Although surprised at how direct Dirk was about it, the man naturally chose the bushes. Dirk knelt in front of him, giving him a blow job, which the man managed to interrupt before he erupted. He put Dirk on all fours and rode him hard. That butt crack zipper of Dirk's was getting a real workout today.
After they were done, Dirk unzipped the leg of his calf and extracted the envelope. "Here, this is for you."
"For me?" The man asked, bewildered. He knew they hadn't set on a price, but he'd naturally expected that he'd be the one to be paying.
"I don't think-?"
"Here. Take it. This is for you."
"Well, OK." The man took the envelope, flattered that the little honey had taken him for a male prostitute-one that he wanted to fuck with. He stuffed it in his pocket without looking inside, zipped up his fly, and left Dirk there to zip himself up in various places and to relace his vest. The man had gotten to feel up the little honey real well. Dirk had rather enjoyed that. He had an hour and a half to kill and he already was in the park, which was a good pickup spot.
Might as well make some more money while he was waiting to hook up with Karl again in the hotel.
Another man was sitting at the same bench when Dirk came out of the bushes.
Dirk was going to pass him by, though, because the man was glowering as he looked at his watch. Obviously something was late in working out for him. He looked up and saw Dirk and motioned him over.
"Got something for me?" he asked when Dirk came over.
"Maybe, but it'll cost you," Dirk answered.
Little bastard, the man thought. Just like someone new to this to try to shake him down. Lars had told him this one was wet behind the ears. But a real honey he was. Would sure like to dip into that, the man thought. "How much?" he asked, curious on how big the shakedown would be.
Dirk named a price. It didn't seem like much.
"OK. So, give."
"How about in those bushes over there?"
"Sure, if that's what you want."
Dirk had dropped down in front of the man and had his cock fished out and was swallowing it before the man knew what was happening. The thought of Dirk being a really nice little piece swam up to blot out whatever else the man was thinking of, so that, twenty minutes later he was just finishing up fucking Dirk in the missionary position under the bushes.
"OK, so now, where's the envelope you were supposed to give me?" the man said as he was standing over Dirk, pulling his trousers up, zipping up, and buckling his belt.
"The envelope?" Dirk said, a frown crossing his face.
* * * *
Karl was lying on the bed in the Axelhaus hotel room, smoking a cigarette and fingering a condom packet when his cell phone buzzed. He turned and looked at his watch that he'd placed on the nightstand next to the phone. Dirk should be along in a few minutes. Karl was ready for him. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought. He'd fucked the young man before sending him off; there'd be no reason not to fuck when he came back, as well. Different controllers handled their assets in different ways. It was just the sort of discipline the rent boy understood. Or so Karl rationalized his desire to dip his stick again.
"Karl, you dumb shit. Do you know where your asset for this operation is right now?"
"He should be along in a few minutes," Karl answered, stung a bit by what Lars had called him. But they'd never been what you could call friends. Lars never had given him full credit for his contribution to the intel operations.
"No, he's not going to be along in a few minutes, Karl. He's right here . . . hey, you two stop that stuff." The last phrase sounded dimmer, like it was directed away from the telephone.
"He fucked it up, Karl. He gave the envelope to the wrong man. And he bumbled the handoff in the club too. Whose idea was it to send a little honeypot into a leatherman fuck club and expect him to be inconspicuous?"
"Hey, I said to knock it off over there. Shit!"
"What's that, Lars? Who are you talking to?"
"The man who brought the rent boy in is spiking him over in the corner. Your Dirk is in his lap, fucking himself on the man's dick. Neither one of them listening to me. What sort of pants are those, anyway, with a zipper up the butt?"
"Listen, Lars, how was I to know-?"
"You fucked him before sending him off on the operation, didn't you? You're there naked now, waiting for him to check back in and lay down and open his legs for you, aren't you? You picked a randy rent boy just to get your rocks off at government expense, didn't you?"
Karl, flooded with guilt, dropped the condom packet he was fingering and pulled the bedspread up to cover his nakedness-like the phone had a camera or something. "No, of course not," he answered indignantly. "But the envelope. How much damage-?"
"No damage except to our budget and time, Karl. And you know why there's no intel damage? I told you your operation plan was off the wall. Do you think I'd just let this little fucker . . . I said knock that off you two . . . waltz out there on a real operation without a trial? It was just an exercise, Karl. Nothing important was being passed. But the very next time you want to let your dick plan an operation, think back on this one."
"I think it was a good idea, Lars. Using a rent boy is a good operational plan."
"But picking one who is so randy he has a zipper up his butt isn't a good plan, Karl. You were thinking with your dick. And then throwing him into sex pits . . . You know what the trouble with your Dirk is, don't you?"
"I have a notion you're going to tell me."
"The trouble with Dirk is that you picked someone who would open his legs for any man, any time, and lose track of the operation . . . and . . . and who has a zipper up his butt."